CHAPTER THIRTY.

I wake up with an IV in my hand and pull it out. I'm itchy, hot, and I feel like I'm floating. I know what this means. I know where I am, and I remember why. I also know I'm alone in this room. I can't see red-blonde hair, and I don't smell her, either.

The IV machine starts its beeping-'put your IV back in, you f.u.c.ker'-and I decide I'm going to unplug it from the wall. The adjustable bed is sitting me up, and I don't really think about why that is before I grip the bed rail with my right hand and agony rips through my shoulder, so bad it leaves me gasping on my back. The lights on the ceiling are spinning like teacups. Teacups at the fair...right? Or is that Disney Land?

A nurse comes in, she's fussing with the machine. I can't make out what she's saying. I don't f.u.c.king care. I think the IV was in my left hand but she takes my right one and I'm dizzy but I know her game.

"You think...I can't...take it out with this...hand?" I try to raise my left.

She gives me a look I can't decipher. The room is way too bright and she's all eyes-a creepy aberration all in white.

All in white...like a bride.

"Where's...my wife?"

"Your wife hasn't been here." Again, those eyes. They're big and green. Like ones I know. "...the police..." she's saying.

But I can't seem to follow. "What?"

"...your sister..."

I shut my eyes. I must be really out of it, 'cause I don't think I have a sister. I focus my eyes on her big ones and swallow past the soreness in my throat so I can croak, "Where's Meredith?"

"...get...sister, sir. Maybe she can..."

She turns to go, and I bat at my right hand with my left. "Turn this s.h.i.t down. I can't...think."

I guess I pa.s.s out, because the next time I wake up, the halo around everything is dimmer and Lizzy is sitting in a chair beside my bed reading a magazine. I'm looking at her impa.s.sively, trying to get my brain to start working, when she jumps up and leans over me.

"You're awake!"

"...No s.h.i.t."

Lizzy looks pretty and perky, and for some reason it's f.u.c.king annoying. I scowl at her. Don't mean to. My mouth just does it, and I'm too tired to think about why I shouldn't.

"Are you hurting? They've been-"

I shake my head, fighting the dizziness that makes the room seem to tilt a little. "I wanna...get out of here."

Her eyes, on me, are big and concerned. She bites her lip, looking around the room. There's a flower poster on one wall. "You're out of ICU and in a floor room now. They don't want to discharge you until tomorrow at the earliest."

I shut my eyes and sink back into my pillows. "f.u.c.kin'...stupid."

I think of Merri-I project her image onto the back of my lids. All I want is to get out of here and see her. Is that too much to ask?

I open my eyes again and unleash the full force of my misery on Lizzy. "The only thing I need from you is to find Meredith."

Lizzy looks surprised, then sad. She sits back down and scoots her chair closer to me. I wish she would scoot it back.

"Cross, about this Meredith... No one here seems to know who she is or where she is. We've looked, I'm sure you can believe that. We can't find her. And the police are here. They want to talk to you, but so far we've been able to keep you covered." There's a pause. I slit my eyes open and look at the stupid clouds somebody painted on the ceiling. "In case you can't tell already, they had to give you narcotics. I know you didn't want that, but your blood pressure was too high. Apparently they had to st.i.tch your shoulder twice. It was the second time. No offense, but I think whatever they gave you is making you grumpy."

With some effort, I hold her gaze. "I'm not f.u.c.king grumpy."

"Okay."

I'm not. I just want Merri. d.a.m.nit, I want her so much I can hardly stand it. Where the f.u.c.k did she go? I sigh-a little louder than I meant to-and attempt to cover my face with my right hand. A shot of pain reminds me that I can't. I don't have a single f.u.c.king arm that I can use. I turn my head away from Lizzy and push my cheek into the pillow.

A second later, I hear her voice. "Cross...who is she? Are you really married?"

My eyes are rolling back into my head, but I don't want to go to sleep. I feel so...out of it. I lift my two-hundred-pound head and make it turn toward Lizzy. "Turn this stuff down, Liz. I don't want it anymore."

Instead of an a.s.s, now I sound pathetic. Like I'm about to cry.

"I'll tell them, C."

I nod. My head feels hot and full. I need Lizzy to leave, but I'm too tired to tell her.

"Cross, who is Merri? Where did you meet her? ...If you're too tired, we can talk about it later."

I force my eyes open, though the effort makes me feel like pa.s.sing out. "...won't tell?"

She shakes her head. "I promise. No one."

"Missy King," I croak.

I feel Lizzy's warm hand on my forearm. "Cross... Are you telling me you went to Mexico and found Missy King? And brought her back here?"

"Yes." The word's a gasp.

"So the wife story is a lie. You're not married to her."

I open my eyes. The light above the bed is bright-so bright. I can feel the fluorescent bulbs surging in time with my heartbeat. I look at Lizzy's face.

"I love her," I whisper.

Her eyes grow wide and I groan, "Go away."

When she shuts the door, I let a tear slip out.

Forty-eight hours later, Suri wheels me down to the lobby of the hospital, a brightly colored, sunny place decorated with big sunflower wall art. Hunter West is waiting with a car, while Lizzy takes care of my discharge paperwork. As she pushes me toward the automatic doors, the wheelchair hits a b.u.mp and I grunt a little. Suri gasps, "Oh my G.o.d, I'm so sorry!"

Since what I told Lizzy the day before yesterday, everyone is treating me like gla.s.s.

It was bad enough after I woke up from the coma, but this level of awkwardness and eggsh.e.l.l walking is maddening. This time, they don't just worry about my health. They worry about my sanity. They pity me. It's almost more than I can take.

The only reason I'm going to Love Inc. is because Lizzy begged me. She insists it's the most logical thing, to keep me safe from my father until I'm healed. I'm sure it's just so she and West can watch me, but she was so sincere I couldn't tell her no.

The automatic doors at the front of the hospital whisk open as we approach, and sunlight shines into my eyes. It's a hot day, hot and dry, and as soon as I inhale the outside air, I'm wrenched with worry over Merri.

Where is she? Why did she leave? Is she safe?

I guess I know she left because of who I really am, but in the middle of the night, as I lay awake with my shoulder throbbing, or got prodded awake by the f.u.c.king overzealous nurses, all I could think about is someone taking her from here while I was out. We're in El Paso, the cartel's front yard. What if she needs me?

I will never know.

I have a feeling deep down in my gut that Merri isn't coming back-and by now, I've had enough of these to trust it.

I'm looking at the blue sky when West steps into my line of sight, and I realize-a few seconds behind-that he just got out the side door of a limousine.

He nods at me, and tips his baseball cap. "How ya doing, kid?"

"Better than you, old s.h.i.t."

This is our version of getting along.

West walks around to the rear of the limo, and I realize as Suri pushes me back that way that he's opening the trunk. What the f.u.c.k? "There's a bed in here," Suri says cheerily. "Lizzy got it for you."

Oh my f.u.c.king G.o.d. "It's a s.e.x bed." I've seen a limo like this before, back in high school. They have little beds in the very back, and the only people who use them are teenagers on prom night.

West, still holding the door, gives me a scowl. "Don't let Lizzy hear you say that. It took her hours to find this, and she even went to a limousine store and bought you sheets."

I shut my eyes and take a few deep breaths. "I'll tell her thanks," I grit.

Suri makes a sighing sound, like she's sad that I don't like the limo. "You want some help in?"

I shake my head, but of course, that's bulls.h.i.t. She and West know it is, so each one slides a hand under my arms, and I ease my a.s.s out of the wheelchair like a f.u.c.king cripple. Up until today, the pain has been manageable, but I ripped off that pain patch they gave me in the bathroom just before we left, and it must have been strong, because I can already feel its absence in my screaming shoulder.

I'm dumped onto my left arm, and about that time Lizzy shows up, climbing into the limo and taking my head in her lap as they ease me onto a bunch of fluffy pillows. She gets me in a position she probably thinks will be comfortable, then comes around in front of me, where I can see her. Crouching on the bed with me, she lifts an eyebrow. "You hate this thing, don't you?"

I grit my teeth and shake my head, widening my eyes so maybe I look sincere.

"Don't lie to me. I knew you would hate it, but I did it anyway because I want you to be comfortable. When we get on the plane, you'll lie on the bed, and when we get to Love Inc., I'm going to make sure you get Marchant's suite."

Her take-charge tone makes my mouth twitch just a little. "Thank you...Mom." I shut my eyes, because I'm starting to see spots, and whisper the rest of what I have to say: "I'm not taking Marchant's room."

"Then you'll have Hunter's old room."

"Whatever you say...Mom."

I'm so d.a.m.n tired, I just wish they would all leave-and they do, for a second, going around to the front and taking seats. But Lizzy and Suri sit on the row right in front of the bed, and the whole time we're driving to the airport, they keep turning around, to inspect me..

I'm shivering a little because the driver's not a careful guy-that or the road is s.h.i.t. My shoulder is in agony.

I bite my lip-discreetly, I think, but I obviously fail, because Suri and Lizzy start to fuss like a couple of hens. I can't even turn over and face the wall and get some f.u.c.king privacy. With both arms f.u.c.ked up, I can hardly move.

I shut my eyes as the whole d.a.m.n car discusses my pain management. Whether I've pulled off my patch. Where I will sleep at the brothel. They come up with solutions for every problem they dream up, except the one that hurts the most.

Merri. Where is she?

I'll have to get used to not knowing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

I pull the plug at the bottom of the claw-footed tub, but I don't get out yet. I've got my hair piled on my head, and I'm up to my neck in the world's most fragrant lavender bubble bath. I lean against the tub's soft headrest and shut my eyes, figuring if I can mime a peaceful person, maybe I can be one, too.

Since I got here four days ago, I've had nothing to complain about. In fact, I've thanked G.o.d more than once for taking care of me. When I was getting off the elevator on the first floor of the hospital, trying not to have a messy breakdown before I made it outside, I saw the familiar-looking guy from upstairs, and I realized it was Marchant Radcliffe. Duh. I think when I looked straight at him, he looked at me, too-and in a matter of milliseconds, he had me ensconced in a little alcove full of leather chairs and magazines.

He said he recognized me from the governor's arm. He also said that after I disappeared, some of the girls who worked with their money to send a P.I. to San Luis to hunt for me. I almost cried when he told me that. That's how unexpected it was.

At first I didn't want to go with him, but he said he'd already chartered a jet for some urgent business anyway, so why didn't I go with him? I didn't trust him, so he offered to call Loveless for me. Once she offered to meet us at the airport and take me to the brothel in her car, I realized I wouldn't find better offers, so I got on Marchant's chartered plane.

The flight to Vegas was rough. I did Sudoku puzzles out of this little book I found in the back of one of the chairs, and as I worked, I let my hair hang down, so Marchant Radcliffe wouldn't see me cry. He stayed in the jet's small bedroom the whole time, though, so by the time we'd been off the ground for half an hour, I just put my head in my hands and let myself go.

A lot of my tears were for Cross-for Evan-but I was surprised to find how many other things are getting underneath my skin.

It's just so weird being back in the States. I push the bubbles around on the surface of the water, thinking about how many times I wished for this. How I really didn't think I'd ever be here. Not at Love Inc., of course-but in the States. Today, I used a whole big wad of toilet tissue for a Number One. I nearly clogged up the toilet. The wastefulness of it didn't bother me nearly as much as I'd thought it would. It was kind of nice.

The first day, when I stepped off the plane and into Loveless's adorable red Mini Cooper, I pointed the vents right at me and nearly purred. I rode in an air conditioned car with Jesus, but the clinic didn't have A.C. Just window fans.

One of the first things I did here was use the laptop Rach.e.l.le loaned me to look at a few Mexican news sites and blogs. Rach.e.l.le is Marchant's second-in-command, and she's been looking after me since Marchant took off on vacation. She's the one who told me Marchant wanted me to use his own suite. I thought that was insanely nice. Anyway, the news sites confirmed for me that the clinic is okay. That's about all I found, other than a very vague news story about some trouble at the border checkpoint we pa.s.sed through. Sometimes the media is in the cartels' pockets, too.

Is it weird that I know all this? That I know, if they come for me, exactly how they will trace my footsteps? What they'll do to me?

Loveless says she thinks I should talk to the brothel's resident psychologist. So far, I've managed to put her off, but the truth is, I could maybe see the benefit in that. I'm not sure I'd want to be honest about everything, but it might be worth my time to go once or twice.

Maybe I could talk about Cross.

I curl my hand around a particularly glittery ball of bubbles and squish them. The crinkling sound they make doesn't give me any satisfaction, so I climb out of the tub and dry my body roughly.

Cross.

The man I left in ICU.

Son of my very own personal evil villain.

Cross Carlson. Evan. My fantasy.